At The Ball
by xlightupthenight
Summary: Disclaimer: this is a sample of my writing to serve as an example as to what future stories may be like. It is not a fandom. Lucien arrives at a fancy dress party and proceeds to be a jerk, especially to heriess Amelia. What could possibly happen?


Rosalie Fry

Thinking and Writing for College 12

2-27-08

Mr. Bender

**At The Ball**

Lucien meandered into the ballroom, smartly dressed, as always. He smiled at the crowd, of people dancing and talking, pleased that he was not the only one who had shown up. He removed his top hat and nodded to the string quartet in the corner. They certainly deserved some recognition, he thought. He walked over to the bar and ordered a rum on the rocks. Leaning against the bar and sipping pensively, Lucien people-watched.

A tall slender woman with ebony hair soon sat down on a stool next to him. She was stunning, Lucien noticed immediately. She looked over at him, and noticed him ogling her. She smiled tersely at him and went back to her drink. "Hey, baby," he said, his voice low, "That's a nice dress. It would look great crumpled on the floor next to my bed." In response, the woman rose, slapped him, and walked away.

Three more failed attempts later, and face throbbing, Lucien was scanning the crowd. He soon noticed a lovely woman wearing an equally lovely dress downing her third or fourth glass of wine. She looked rather uncomfortable and kept glancing down at her shoes. He shook his head. Heeled shoes were obviously a torture device designed by a man who knew how to make a woman look fabulous. Having never worn heels before, Lucien could only imagine how much pain they could inflict on the wearer. Lucien made eye-contact with the woman, and motioned for her to come over to where he was standing.

Momentarily, she came over. With a small smile, the girl bowed her head and dipped into a one-handed curtsy, greeting him. Her bright eyes met with his once more, and she smiled, silently studying him. Lucien chuckled to himself as she drank in his longish sweeping hair, shadowy grey eyes and slightly ostentatious attire. He was used to people staring; his good genetic material was to blame for his looks, and well, he couldn't blame anyone but himself for his outfit. The girl seemed to realize that she was staring and quickly took a sip from her glass to hide her disregard for manners.

Lucien smiled at her, a twinkle in his eye. "The consumption of large amounts of alcohol over a long period of time can lead to liver damage." He looked down at his glass and laughed softly. "But what the hell?" He drained the glass and set it down on the bar, motioning for the bartender to refill it. "Lucien," he introduced himself, holding out his hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you." 

The girl replied, smiling, "A man after my own heart, I see." She then introduced herself as the heiress Amelia Everstone. Lucien had, of course, met these sort of rich-heiress-types before, and knew just how to annoy them. Raising his eyebrows in mock surprise, Lucien asked, "Everstone, of the Cambridge Everstones?" He got down on one knee and kissed her hand, knowing she would _hate_ this sort of display. He smiled mentally. "Milady."

She tried to shake him off, blushing a deep red that brought out the green of her eyes, even in the dimly lit ballroom, and looked around to see if anyone else was watching this awful display. She took a step back, and blushed deeper.  
"Ha ha. You're so hilarious. Will you get up now?" she said, attempting to free her hand from his lips. By now her face had turned bright pink, but she couldn't stop a sheepish smile from crossing her lips. Truth be told, she _did_ sort of like the attention.

"As you wish, your heiressness." He rose, finishing off his display with an exaggerated bow. "I must say, the crimson of your face offsets the green of your dress and eyes quite nicely." Lucien laughed gently, hoping she wouldn't slap him. He sat on one of the barstools and tossed his hair out of his eyes.

"I disagree. I think red is really more _your_ color." And the remainder of the wine was in his lap.

Shocked and dripping, Lucien didn't know quite what to say. Of course, he'd had it coming. Being an incurable prick had its consequences. And now people were looking at him. Lucien grimaced, but then chuckled bitterly as the cold beverage soaked slowly through his trousers. "I suppose you're right. Waiter," he said, turning, "a club soda, please. Quickly." He took the club soda and excused himself to change his trousers.

After stopping in the coatroom to retrieve a clean set of clothes, (oh, yes, he always brought a change of clothes to social events, since he seemed to have a habit of getting things poured on him) Lucien went to the restroom. Stripping down, he laughed aloud. That girl was something. Despite the fact that she'd poured her drink on him, he had to admit, he was starting to like Amelia.

He scrubbed at the wine stain with the club soda (a trick he'd learned from his mother) until his trousers were as clean as they would get. He then folded his wet clothing, and putting it in a plastic bag, Lucien walked to the coatroom. He placed the bag in his attaché case, returned to the ballroom, and sat back down at the bar.  
"I'd like to apologize for before, Ms. Everstone. What I said was rude and out of line. Let me buy you a drink to replace the one you poured on me."

She nodded, and he ordered drinks for the both of them, knowing full well that she didn't need one. She was tipsy, bordering on drunk, and Lucien knew that buying her another drink wouldn't help. 

Lucien knew what he was doing, however, and he refused to let his conscience have any say in the matter. He knew, in addition to the snippet about liver damage, that consumption of alcohol in large quantities over a _short_ period of time could lead to Lucien getting into a girl's pants. He smiled to himself and turned to Amelia, asking, "So, what brings you to these parts? Cambridge is quite a distance from here."

Setting down the wine glass, Amelia brushed a lock of her fiery hair from her face, then stubbornly pulled off her gloves, laying them on the bar. She glanced up abruptly at his question.  
"My father," she replied, "is looking for a husband for me. He's _this_ close to putting up a dowry." She put her thumb and forefinger close together to demonstrate. After the wine, her words began to run together, much like paint on a still wet piece of artwork.

"And I take it you'd rather stay unmarried?" Lucien smiled. "Though I must say, I'm surprised you're as of yet unattached." He sipped at his drink; this was only his second and he was already beginning to feel all warm and tingly. _Curse my low body weight,_ he thought. 

"Not necessarily stay unmarried," she said, shaking her head. "I'd just rather not marry someone I don't know." She glanced up at him, her brows inclining downwards.  
"Fathers _can_ be a nuisance, can't they?" Lucien asked, nodding.

Amelia nodded, then took another mouthful of wine. "The biggest nuisance. But why," she asked, swaying slightly, "is it so unbelievable that I'm unattached?"

Lucien chuckled. "Not unbelievable, just...surprising. A young woman of your social standing, and, might I say, beauty, must have gentlemen flocking to her doorstep. And at least a few of them must be decent."

Amelia laughed loudly, turning heads at the bar. "You're so full of it! What about you, Mr. Suave?" she grinned. "What's your excuse for being here?" 

He smiled at the 'Mr. Suave' comment. "No excuse. Just needed a night out, perhaps some friendly company. And I had this uncontrollable urge to have a drink poured on me." He put his hand out to stop her. "I'm all set now, though."

Amelia shook her head, tousling her red hair. Uncrossing her legs, she giggled drunkenly. "I'm so glad I could help, then. Any time you need a drink splashed on you, call me up." Looking up, her bright eyes danced across his face, then she shut them and smiled.

"Thanks," Lucien grinned. "I'll keep that in mind."

Amelia was quite smashed now, and Lucien wasn't the only one who had noticed. Several people were staring at her, and Lucien was sure that this wasn't the sort of picture her family would want her to portray. "Amelia, let's go sit at one of those tables," he suggested, gesturing toward a group of booths, each secluded and dark, save for a candle. He hoped she'd be able to walk without falling over. That was low on his list of things he needed right now.

"If you say so, Mr. Suave." Amelia giggled again and grabbed her wine glass and gloves. The sound of her heels was uneven as she tried to manage walking in a relatively straight line. No such luck. Amelia stumbled, and placed a hand on Lucien's shoulder in order to steady herself. "Sorry, Loo-shen." She smiled, exaggerating his name. 

Lucien did a mental 'face palm' and smiled. 'It's all right.' God, she was cute when she was drunk completely tanked out of her mind. He gently led her to one of the booths (all right, the nearest one; patience was never his strong suit) and helped her sit. He slid in next to her, brushing a stray strand of hair away from her face and tucking it gently behind her soft ear. It was nice here in the low light, and Amelia looked amazing. For someone who was completely tanked out of her mind.

Amelia's head lolled to one side, and she found her head against his shoulder. She giggled again, and managed to lift her head enough to take another sip of wine. After getting a mouthful, Amelia frowned down at her shoes once more. They were a dark green, and shimmered even in the dim candlelight. Too bad they were torture devices. "Where are you from, Loo-shen?"

He put his hand on her thigh as he answered her question. "I've lived all over, actually. I was raised in London, but we moved to Russia when I was thirteen. I went to college in the States, but I'm back living in England now. Ipswitch, actually. Which is how," he said, draining his drink, "I knew about your family."

Amelia smiled as she felt his hand on her slinky dress. She watched him with drunken intent, her eyes staying on his. The heiress's head felt heavy, and she soon found herself leaning against the back of the booth, her eyes struggling to stay focused.  
"I always wanted to go to Russia," she slurred, blinking furiously in an attempt to keep him in one spot. "I'm really not sure why, but it just sounds nice." She grinned, then finished off her wine, frowning at the empty glass. "Can I get some more of this?" Giggling, Amelia wiggled the glass between her fingers.

Lucien put his hand on hers and said, "Erm, no, I think it's best you didn't." 

"But Loo-shennn!" She whined, then placed the glass on the table, finding her hand covered by his. They looked into each other's eyes, and the world around them seemed to stop.

Lucien brushed a lock of red hair away from her face and let his hand pause on her cheek. It was unfair to take advantage of a girl who at this point probably didn't know up from down, but Lucien was never the type to be fair. He leaned in and kissed her, tasting the wine still on her lips; feeling the warmth of her cheek on his hand.

Amelia's eyes followed his hand, then returned to his. Her breathing uneven, and her head still heavy from the wine, she knew what was coming, but still lost her breath when his lips touched hers. Amelia's made up eyes shut heavily, and she found her lips pressing against his. Her cheek tingled with excitement where his hand held her, and she placed her own hand on his neck.

"And that," said Lucien, smiling, "is how I met my wife."

"Aw, Luke, you always gotta out-do everyone else's stories, don't you?" came the whining reply.

"Of course I do; it _is_," he laughed, "my job." His response was met by murmurs of agreement as well as general mumbling.

"All right, all right," Jake said, attempting to restore order, "Lucien wins; everyone else has to drink."


End file.
